


Fresh Meat

by historymiss



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Gen, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/pseuds/historymiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out George Lucas lied about space. Peter Quill learns the polite way to deal with his new cannibal family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Meat

Peter's been on the ship about a month when they bring the first one in. The Ravagers have been on a raid- they do this frequently, according to no schedule that Peter can discern, and it's always accompanied by ragged noise that echoes around the bulkheads like thunder. Usually Peter just finds somewhere to hide (not difficult on a Ravager vessel, thank God), plugs in his Walkman, and turns the music up so loud he can't even think any more.

(He used to cry, too. He's not sure when that stopped)

This, though: this time is different. There's a tone to the shouting that's familiar in a way he can't put his finger on until blue hands reach into his hidey-hole and drag him out, ripping the Walkman from his ears and setting him on his feet.

"What'd I tell you about hiding, boy?" Yondu smells disgusting: his breath reeks of the scavenged slop that Ravagers have for almost every meal, and like all the people Peter meets there's this unsettling, alien quality to his scent that's all the more disturbing because he's starting to not notice it any more.

"Not to do it." Peter mumbles, examining his shoes. Yondu hunkers down, getting in Peter's sightline, lifting his chin to force eye contact.

"Not to do it?"

"Sir." Peter adds, quickly. Yondu nods, once, satisfied, and stands up. 

"That's right. You're one of us, now. Can't keep hiding away when there's work to be done. I didn't have to save you, and I won't have useless mouths on my ship."

"No sir." Peter says mechanically, trailing along in Yondu's wake. He'd dreamed about going into space, once, curled up against his mom when she showed him her favourite movies- Star Wars, Flash Gordon. Space had seemed wonderful, dirty and exciting. It was a shame to discover the movies had only gotten one of those right.

"And that's why you gotta learn things." Yondu, unaware or uncaring that Peter wasn't listening, sweeps into the cargo hold where the rest of the crew surrounds a kneeling pair of- humanoids, Peter guesses (that was the word they used in his comics), though these ones wouldn't have made it past George Lucas' central casting. They look poor, and exhausted, and terrified, and Peter bites the inside of his mouth, hard, because he knows that look.

"Crew's gettin' awful hungry, captain." Another Ravager, a first mate whose name Peter never got to learn, lays one hand on the head of the leftmost prisoner, and one on his knife. 

"Look at this, boy." Yondu has his own hand on Peter's head, making sure he sees it, as if the kid could look away. "This is what I saved you from."

"Nuh-no."

"What?"

Peter twists out of Yondu's grip and looks up at him, surprised himself at the sound of his own voice. "Uh- no. I don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh don't you?" There it is, that tone he's already beginning to recognise: that build to anger. Peter swallows, and fingers his Walkman in his pocket. 

"Look at them, suh-sir." he gestures to the prisoners. "I mean, they ain't much, are they?"

"They's _meat!_ " someone yells, and Peter, forgetting himself, rolls his eyes.

"Ain't you ever taken a health class?" Oh god. Yondu's gonna kill him, but maybe that's better, or maybe he's not- maybe he's Han Solo, gabbling into the comm on the Death Star. Maybe he's Lando, negotiating for his life with the Empire. "They're covered in dirt and stuff! These guys got disease, probably." he wrinkles his nose. "What meat's on 'em."

"Uh-huh." Yondu doesn't look convinced. Peter makes a face.

"Look, you eat these guys, you get, what, a full belly for one night and then?" he turns to the prisoners. "You- you guys- what are you?"

"We're merchants!" One of them manages. Peter nods encouragingly.

'Okay, merchants. You work for someone?"

"Yes!"

The other prisoner, who Peter can see now is dressed in fine, if very, very dirty dress uniform, makes a _tsk_ ing sound. "Well, it's more of a conglomerate-"

The other one kicks him.

_"Shut up!"_

"So, uh-" What was it that pirates did? Oh yeah. "Ransom 'em back." Peter looks up to Yondu. "Use the money to buy some meat that won't give you all some weirdo space disease. Fly under the radar and don't get in trouble with the- the space cops or whatever for eating random folk. Speaking personally, not getting eaten makes you real grateful."

Peter pauses.

"Sir."

He'll remember this moment for the rest of his life. Yondu sucks on his teeth and looks the situation up and down, and there's a moment when Peter's pretty sure Terran's going to be back on the menu, but Yondu laughs, a great hoarse bark that surprises everyone. 

"Got it all worked out, don'tcha?" He shakes his head.

"I'll do whatever you want." Peter clenches his fists tight, doesn't look at the prisoners. "Just... don't eat them."

He manages not to say please.

Yondu rolls his eyes. "We gotta get this sentimental streak out of you, boy." He motions to the prisoners. "Let her up."

Peter smiles.

"Kill the other one."

Yondu turns on his heel and walks out, and Peter can't do anything, not a single thing, except screw his eyes tight shut and bite his tongue hard enough to taste blood.

"You gotta learn, boy."

 _Yeah_ , Peter thinks, loud as he can, louder than the sounds behind him that echo off the bulkheads and fill the ship to every corner. _I got one of them out alive._

_I need to get better at talking you down._


End file.
